


throw him to the wolves

by Anonymous



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Power Imbalance, Public Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thompson hadn’t expected to see Callum again tonight and certainly not like that, feisty and with a bit of fight in him. He wants to push him, he wants to break him, he wants him. But he knows better than to give up control that easily.[Thompson thinks about Callum while masturbating in the toilets at the station after walking in on him using his account to dig for information.]
Relationships: DI Steve Thompson/Callum 'Halfway' Highway
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	throw him to the wolves

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote another similar Thompson fic, [one way or another](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624479)
> 
> This happens right after the scene where Thompson caught Callum digging for information on Ellie using his account on October 23rd.
> 
>  **Warnings:**
> 
> This is from Thompson’s pov so it’s fucked up. Callum is objectified and sexualised. Control, manipulation, abusive behaviour, homophobic undertones, victim blaming and power imbalances are alluded to throughout. Thompson fantasises about sex with Callum and imagines it would be consensual but due to the power imbalance these are dub con/non con scenarios. 
> 
> Thompson is masturbating in a locked cubicle where he can't be seen however **[spoilers]** Thompson doesn't stop when a colleague walks into the bathroom and continues when Callum comes in looking for him although nobody sees anything and there are no interactions.

Thompson stares at Callum’s hands poised over the laptop keyboard, too taken aback to move.

“This is the golden ticket,” he says, mostly to make Callum look at him again.

Callum turns and seems confused so Thompson decides to clarify. 

“This is how we nail him.” 

Callum doesn't say anything but he holds Thompson's gaze. He should go, leave him to it, but he lingers a moment, unable to look away. 

Callum sways forwards in his seat and Thompson wonders, briefly, if he’s going to stand or reach out for him. But he doesn’t, he simply nods slightly, acquiescing only when Thompson puts his hand on the door handle. Ever the stubborn bastard even under duress. Thompson mirrors the gesture with a flicker of a smile and walks out into the corridor.

Well fuck.

He comes to rest against the filing cabinet, leaning heavily to try and ground himself. Normally he can hide how he's feeling, that’s the mark of a good detective after all but Callum has done something to him, thrown him off his game. 

Thompson bites his lip and grinds his shoulders into the cold metal, trying in vain to pull himself together.

Seeing Callum tonight was unexpected but seeing him like that, all riled up, it nearly made Thompson lose control. Thompson would never stand for insubordination, _never_. And yet when the rookie raised his voice that bad, dirty desire he’s been wrestling with these past few months began again to coil its way through his guts thick, heavy and hot. 

He thrusts his hips reflexively thinking about how Callum's skin burned red with anger. Fuck, he needs to get himself somewhere private and quickly. He walks purposefully to the toilets and checks that they’re empty before locking himself away in the furthermost cubicle. 

For just a moment, the rookie had forgotten his place, he’d talked back, raised his voice and Thompson liked it. He wanted to wrangle with him, he wanted to see how far he could go. He could’ve stood by the door watching him all night long. He’s noticed that Callum’s skin comes up in goose pimples when he feels Thompson watching him and he knows what that means. 

The rookie likes to be watched. 

He reaches for the lock but stops himself. He can’t go back in there, that would be letting Highway win. Tonight Callum needed to be put back in his place and left there.

Being alone in the cubicle does nothing to quell the fire raging in his belly so he leans back against the wall and undoes his fly, freeing his dick through the opening in his boxers and stroking slowly, relief flooding his entire body from the first touch of his own hand.

He plays it over again in his mind. 

_Well, this is it. This is me going the extra mile, or is that not what you want?_

What a fucking tease. Highway knows full well what he wants.

He dribbles spit into the palm of his hand and strokes himself to full hardness. He feels powerful like this, better. 

Callum was there the day Thompson arrested Phil and Ben Mitchell on suspicion of murder. Thompson recognised him as the man who’d interrupted him on his walk to the pub during his first day on the job in Walford by viciously beating the shit out of another bloke. You don’t forget that kind of ferocity.

Even before he knew Callum’s name, he knew what he and the Mitchell lad were to each other from the desperate looks they'd shared as Ben was carted off. At the time he thought it made sense that they were together, a thug with a temper and a wannabe gangster, both distasteful, both scum.

But he’d got Callum all wrong, he was _far_ more interesting than that.

Now it heats his skin to think of Callum grunting and wild eyed and his colleague forced to use all his strength just to push him away. From time to time he plays it in his head and tries to reconcile the rosy cheeked man he knows with the one he saw that night. 

Hearing him beat Hardcastle was music to his ears, seeing a flicker of that rage in him tonight, discovering that he can and _does_ push those very same buttons, it was a fucking revelation. 

_I knew you had it in ya, Highway._

He uses long, slow strokes to try and calm himself, he feels frantic inside, desperate even, but he's determined to regain some semblance of self control.

Someone walks in and Thompson has to stop himself from calling out Callum’s name just in case it’s him. He bites his lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the thought. Even if it was him, what would he do when he answered? Invite him into the cubicle? Revel in the shock on his face? Try not to smile when he licked his lips?

He gives his dick a few quick pumps then slows again. 

No, first he'd call his name. Then he’d open the cubicle door. Callum would join him, crowd him, tower over him. Such a big man. And then he'd drop to his knees without a single word before Thompson even had a chance to lock the door because he'd _know_ just who’s in charge here. 

Whoever it is that's in the toilets washes their hands and leaves but the image remains. He can see it clear as anything. Callum. On his knees. 

He can see it two ways: Callum down on the floor in his uniform and then in those skin tight jeans and a close fitting shirt. He always wondered about blokes in skinny jeans but when he saw them on Callum, he finally got it. He can't help but love the way they cling to his thighs and his peachy arse, that and the fact the rookie clearly isn't bothered about leaving anything to the imagination, more than happy to flaunt himself in front of everyone. In front of Thompson.

He picks up the pace, his hand a blur as he pictures Callum on his knees, naked this time and hard, his thick thighs spread wide and his wrists handcuffed behind his back. 

At his mercy, totally, completely and _loving_ it. 

Thompson strokes himself faster and faster, eyes screwed closed to block out any light from this fantasy. 

He'd tangle his fingers in Callum's hair then grab it to hold his head steady before pushing forward into his open, willing mouth, those pretty pink lips encircling his dick, helpless and drooling.

Afterwards he’d cup his face and tell him, _You should be proud of yourself, you did good. You’re a good boy. You’re my good boy._ Callum would smile at that, maybe he'd even believe it.

He pulls his hand away and takes a few deep breaths. He can't let Highway do this to him. 

When Callum showed up at training, the fresh faced rookie, the most enthusiastic of the bunch and the only one with a smile first thing in the morning, Thompson figured he’d split with Mitchell, that he’d seen sense and decided he wanted to be one of the good guys.

Thompson hadn't been able to get Callum out of his head ever since he first saw him in uniform. He was the picture of authority; the vest served to make him look even more broad than he actually is and his boots accentuated his shapely calves and thick thighs. Thompson wanted to tear him apart and make him submit.

Just watching him walk around the station in uniform drove Thompson wild, he had no choice but to go and lock himself away in this very cubicle plagued by thoughts of big, tall Callum, twenty years his junior, bent over the table in the interrogation room, his trousers pulled down and his legs spread, waiting ever so patiently for Thompson to take him. To use him. A good lad who’d got mixed up with the wrong crowd looking to turn it around and be a good copper, willing to do anything to prove himself to his superiors.

He came so hard he had to sit in the staff room for half an hour before he could feel his legs again properly and Callum had brought him a coffee with a smile, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was to blame for the state Thompson was in.

He thought he had the rookie figured out but after an accusation of excessive force was made against him, Thompson had started to wonder. He brought the CCTV of Ben Mitchell committing armed robbery to him as a test that Callum failed spectacularly when he pretended not to recognise him. Still it was inconclusive, maybe they were exes and Callum held some kind of misguided loyalty towards him. He seemed the type.

But when he saw him peeking out from behind the garden wall as he arrested the Mitchell boy, he knew. It was written all over his face. He was heartbroken. His rookie was still in bed with the Mitchells. 

Excessive force and ABH, that honey sweet smile belied something else, something darker, dirtier. The boy liked it rough, liked it dangerous. He liked to have his limits pushed. Thompson couldn't help but wonder how far he could push Callum before he’d lose control and snap despite knowing the consequences. 

Thompson has his finger on Callum’s hair trigger temper and fuck how he wants to just _squeeze_. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and starts again, this time switching hands, his right for his left, and imagines the unfamiliar grip is Callum’s. 

Those big hands and long fingers. 

Never before had he longed for another man’s touch, the idea had repulsed him truth be told and yet now it was all he could think about. 

There's just something in the way Callum looks up at him from under those dark lashes with those big blue eyes that drives him wild. Fuck, he loves feeling Callum’s eyes on him, it wakes his body up, makes him hot, makes him hard. He hasn’t felt like this in years. 

But he never gets quite enough from him. Callum never watches him go. Whenever Thompson walks away, he always turns back at the door and Callum is always staring ahead, steely calm. It’s the remnants of his army training he’s sure, you can always tell a former soldier by their unwavering ability to hold their nerve. To not look back. 

But it’s also there in the way he nods and swallows when Thompson tells him to keep his chin up and then makes an effort to hold himself taller for the rest of the day. He’s submissive, eager to please. A good little soldier through and through.

Thompson would do anything to have that good little soldier on his knees right now.

He draws his dick out through his fist, imagines it popping free of Callum’s mouth and him looking up with those beautiful eyes. 

_Thank you, Sir._

He asked Callum what the boys in the station must think. They've all caught wind of their covert meetings in empty interview rooms, seen them driving round the corner to whisper in his car and always outside the guest house. There must be rumours by now that they’re just coming out or about to go in, booking a bed by the hour. 

It would be delicious, he thinks, to fuck the rookie within feet of his own front door, for one of the Mitchells to hear him come loud and ragged through an open window right there on their own turf. 

Revenge on Phil Mitchell would be sweet, he’d dreamed of it for years, wanted it more than anything and yet he thinks that actually, tasting the rookie would be sweeter. 

Thompson strokes faster, the weaker grip of his left hand keeping him away from the edge even as he increases his speed. It’s frustrating just like Callum.

He lifts his hand to his mouth and licks his thumb then teases the head of his dick until a bead of precum forms. He sucks on his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as he teases his slit with now slick fingers, imagining they were Callum's pink tongue instead. It sends a thrill right through him, an electric pang of pleasure that nearly pushes him past the point of no return.

He lifts away his hand and tries to catch his breath.

Thompson knew Callum was naive, innocent even. That innocence called out to him, drew him in. It made him want to grab his hand and shove it into the fire so he’d realise just how close he was standing to it.

The wire was an intricate test in just naive Callum really was.

It didn’t take much for him to submit to Thompson’s request to wear it; a little praise, some light coercion. Or maybe it was the promise of getting to be  _ spontaneous _ with his boyfriend whenever he wanted that won him over. Thompson had long since suspected that Callum was a slut but that was okay, that could even work in his favour. Not every proclivity needed to be tamed.

He'd only listened to the feed from it for an hour or so after his rookie left the station. Hearing Callum play happy families with Mitchell made him sick. It was pathetic. All he learned was that Mitchell calls him _babe_ and paws at him constantly like a needy child. 

He had to admit that it felt good to bring Callum back down to earth when the truth came out. It was a thrill revealing just where his weakness for the Mitchell boy had got him; on the brink of losing his career and risking prison too.

If only he'd let a real man touch him he wouldn’t need to worry about any of that shit.

The next time they were alone in his car, he called Callum _babe_ in a low tone and waited for a reaction he never got. The rookie was silent but the tips of his ears burned red. 

_You can deny it all you like but I know where you live now, Highway._

He'd call him anything he wanted if it made him open his mouth or his legs. 

Thompson saw them together once after that. He'd watched from a distance as they strolled out of the Mitchell house hand in hand, both flushed and smiling broadly, no prizes for guessing what they'd been up to. Then Ben - nothing to look at, short and stocky with a soft belly - stopped walking abruptly and yanked Callum back towards him and they kissed, open mouthed and raw right there in the street before they hurried back inside, not yet done with one another.

It was embarrassing to watch. 

He pities Callum and he hates him too. He wants to save him. He wants to throw him and his little boyfriend to the wolves. 

Thompson switches hands, unable to take the torture of his non dominant hand another second and it feels amazing but his brain betrays him with images of Callum getting fucked by Mitchell. He can see it clear as day, the rookie on his stomach, writhing beneath his boyfriend, begging Ben to fuck him harder. And he would, he'd fuck him harder, call him babe in that smarmy voice, pull his hair, make him moan. 

It doesn't matter. He’d do it better. 

There are good people and bad people in this world and he’s good, they’re good. He tells him all the time, he just has to make Callum believe it and then he’ll be his, if Thompson still wants him. 

He takes a deep, heaving breath that makes his lungs burn and brings back the image of Callum with his hands cuffed behind his back. His big brave ex-army man on his knees in the filth, eager and ready. This time he pictures Callum's bare chest shining with sweat, his stomach drawing in tight in anticipation when Thompson whispers to him and moves in close. 

_You’re so good. So good for me._

He fists his dick faster and faster, this time Callum is in his bed, handcuffed to the headboard, naked, legs spread. Thompson's never been with another man but this isn't about that. It's about power and control. It feels good to imagine Callum beneath him. Laid out for him. Tight and hot around him, moaning louder and louder until those moans turn to screams.

_Tell me he never made you scream the way I do._

He’s close, so close, the idea of closing his hands around Callum’s cuffed wrists as he thrusts into him makes his eyes roll back in his skull, pleasure building and burning through his abdomen all the way down to his toes. It's good, so good that he doesn't miss a beat when someone walks in and stops in the doorway, he doesn't care, lost in a fantasy and so close now he's seeing stars. 

Then he hears that voice. _His_ voice.

“Sir?”

Callum.

Thompson doesn’t answer. Callum’s voice is heightened a little with anxiety, he’s stressed. He doesn’t need to be. They’re so close, so close now. Maybe once they've achieved their goal then he’ll see he’s done a good thing, been a good copper and a good boy. Maybe he’ll see that Thompson can look after him if he keeps himself in line, if he listens and obeys.

Oh God, he’s right there, they’re breathing the same air. He presses his hand flat against the door just for a second as if he might somehow be able to reach out and touch him. 

“Are you in here, DI Thompson?”

Hearing his name, no, his _title_ , pushes him over the edge and he bites down on the heel of his hand to muffle his moans. 

Callum is only a few feet away. He must be able to hear the sounds of skin on skin, the squeak of his shoes as squirms.

A mind melting orgasm rolls through him, spilling hot onto the floor. He wants to call out to him, he wants to watch his rookie lick his cum off his shoes, he wants him to hold him up in his strong arms. 

Callum clears his throat and leaves and Thompson drops his hand from his mouth and gasps for air. He can't remember the last time he came so hard, maybe in his youth, maybe never. 

He breathes heavily through the comedown unable even to lift himself up off the wall for a long while. Eventually he manages to clean up and leave the cubicle on shaky legs to wash his hands and splash his face. 

He wanders out into the station, everything seems brighter and louder than before.

When he spots Callum, he’s leaving so he calls out to him to stop.

“Just heading home now, Sir. I er.. I logged out and all that.”

“Good lad.”

Callum smiles weakly and nods. 

“You’re doing good, Callum. I promise. We’re so close, you and I.”

“Yeah.”

He reaches out and squeezes Callum’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb into the stiff muscle. He mustn't be getting any at home if he's tense like that. Callum laughs nervously, perhaps flustered by his touch, affected by it if nothing else.

Callum points towards the door and they say their goodbyes then Thompson watches him go. He wonders if he knows. He’s sure he heard something, he must have, but he wonders if he knows it was for him. No, not for him. _Because_ of him. 

He walks back to the interview room Callum was using and sits in his chair. It’s still warm. 

In a few months time, he thinks, Phil Mitchell will be in prison and Ben will see Calum as a traitor and he’ll be cut free to find a proper man who knows how to touch him the way he needs to be touched.

He drags his hand over his face and finds it damp with sweat. 

Callum Highway is not in control, he is.

And if Callum doesn’t get that then he can go to prison with the lot of them and they can rot together.

He stands and pushes the chair under the table and takes a deep, deep breath before turning off the light and leaving the room to grow cold. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! x


End file.
